By Virtue Fall
by Bloomhunger
Summary: Creation, growth, decay, destruction, rebirth - the loop is endless. And yet, as the planet threatens to suffocate on human greed for power yet again, it calls forth it's most treasured champion and it's most hated enemy to it's defence. As corruption spreads further still from Midgar to threaten all life, can the nightmare protect the dream without tainting she who is innocent?
1. Prologue: What Is Past Is Prologue

**By Virtue Fall**

 **Prologue: What Is Past Is Prologue or (In Wretched Midgar, We Lay Our Scene)**

* * *

The streets of Midgar were always dirty, this was a commonly known fact of life.

No matter how much the architecture and urban landscape changed, it still remained sullied. From the spire that rose from the centre to the sectors nestled around it, each part of the metropolis was as tainted as the desolate settlements spread around it.

However, whether one lived in the city proper or in the outskirts of Edge where Sectors 3 and 4 used to be made little made difference as to the degree of pollution one was exposed to. It was merely a question of which type of filth soiled either the neat concrete pavement or the barren, trodden paths.

An old man coughed as he watched from his spot on an empty crate. He looked to be around sixty-five, ancient for someone residing in Edge and he looked as though he fit right in with the dirty surfaces in the desolate city wasteland. He might once have been handsome but the unruly hair that had been flaxen blond in his youth had long since lost all colour and now clung to his marred face in shaggy, grey strands. Even his eyes lacked vibrancy and the once cobalt orbs had turned the colour of rain, dull and sad. In the slums where he spent his days it was never truly sunny. Too thick was the nebula that hovered over the city of metal and concrete that huddled up against Midgar's towering structure. It was dark and filthy in Edge and while sunny and ventilated, Midgar was dirty too. Looming high up above Edge, in the city, arrogance littered the streets and haughty ignorance was worn on empty hearted people like designer perfume. Up there, the stain pretended to be anything but dirty while under the rebuilt metropolis, the filth, didn't even try to deny it's uncleanliness. Honesty in wretchedness he supposed. He had lived up there once, it seemed like a lifetime ago. It was, really, for many didn't live to be half his age. It pained him to bear witness to the lives of children being lost to the very air they breathed and the dust that forever permeated everything and anything in the ruined outskirts. And even more it hurt to know how a century ago, when his grandfather had fought for the freedom of the people, the life of the planet and the end of corruption, it had been for all but naught. The new age after the Calamity's progeny had been defeated at last had held such promise. But it seemed that Midgar was a place beyond hope, forever bending to the will of those in power.

Meteorfall. Geostigma. Sephiroth. ShinRa. Those were threats of the past, thanks to people who too, were gone from the world. No champion could stand the test of time and finally, fifty years ago, the last of the revered heroes passed into the lifestream to join the planet they had saved. But alas, the peace and prosperity they had risked their lives for had been been of short duration. The old man coughed again and pulled out a pipe from his torn and shredded coat which he propped between his teeth fully aware that his last bit of tobacco had been smoked long ago. Power, he had decided, was the strongest test of character. It corrupted ambition, poisoned intent and blinded eyes that had held visions of utopia. Even those who aimed for righteousness succumbed to power eventually. His grandfather had taught him this simple truth, using his own life's story as a shining example. So many of the people he had encountered in his youth had been paragons of integrity and eventually fallen. Power, in whatever form and for whatever purpose, was a catalyst for insanity, a mad scramble for power. Even the greatest could fall prey to the parasite, even if they were purely human and not the hosts of an evil alien calamity. A dangerous mistress, power, he thought and gazed upward where his ageing eyes could barely make out tiny electric lights in the city beyond the haze. A good man, his grandfather, made wise by a hard life from which he had never truly recovered. And now, the Strife family name would die with his grandchild, a miserable old man with nothing and nobody to remember him or his lineage, despite the statue erected next to the Meteorfall Monument in the honour of the terrorists turned heroes in the mostly neglected central square.

This was how it would forever be, he sighed. Upon creation followed growth and hope only to be succeeded by corruption, decay and finally to be destroyed. And with each new cycle, the ones that came before were forgotten. It seemed that it could not be helped.

Nearby a young man hurried by, whispering into his PHS, veiled threats that would surely cost him dearly if they had been uttered within earshot of anyone but Old Strife. Threats aimed at ReGEN, the mutated remains of the World Regenesis Organisation, the post-ShinRa government that was now every bit as toxic to the city as the cooperation they had displaced and then replaced. Reeve Tuesti's vision had been genuine and it had been welcome. But over time, it seemed the visionary lost his visions to half-hearted attempts to replace the energy they had lost when the mako reactors had been shut and exploiting the Lifestream had become illegal. While not nearly as militant as ShinRa at it's peak, ReGEN was frighteningly effective at achieving the goals agreed upon in the monolithic tower in Sector 0. At first, the WRO had been revered by all as a force for good, acting in the name of planet and humanity. They had worked to cure the trauma left behind by Geostigma, the memory of meteor and the fatigue provoked by warlike circumstances that had made the people weary and hungry for order and safety. And at first, it had worked. Plans had been made for the reconstruction of Midgar's city proper while the slums were cleared out and Edge was to be integrated in the whole. Train lines were rebuilt, the highways reworked and with the promise of new energy for all, the future had been so bright. And then, slowly, bit by bit, the bright promise turned less and less promising. First, of course, he remembered, the scientific institute funded by what had now become known as ReGEN had discovered an alternative to mako energy. Relieved that the planet was no longer to be drained for energy, the new reactors in which atoms were spliced for power, were received with euphoria. Every home was granted a years free use of the new energy provided by the government, to see for themselves, the miracle which had been created.

And with the new energy, the death of principle had been imminent. The reactors had been built underground and surrounding the now prospering city. No one but it's creators had known just how much havoc this particle power could possibly wreak and they had remained silent for profit and glory's sake. Eco-friendly energy at customer-friendly prices, the advertisements had declared, lying through the teeth of too happy actors and too bright colours. Energy harvested from the splicing of cells in large reactors buried underground. No longer would large cooperations drain the planet of its lifeblood and choke it to death. Instead, he thought bitterly, the government was poisoning it, corroding it slowly. It was the leaking of the by-products that was now killing the planet and more directly, the people who lived above the reactors. Poisonous particles hid in the all-encapsulating dust and turned the very air into miasma. Those who didn't die of malnutrition in what soon became dark, decrepit slums, were either killed or died of consumption. And there was no escape from Edge. The Enforcers – ReGEN's police department – made sure of that in an effort to contain the corruption. Not that they were as brutal or militant as the ShinRa infantry had been to begin with, but they were damned effective at keeping people where they belonged. And for citizens of Edge, well, that was in the city outside the city, where they had once been proud to reside.

When pillaging groups of outlaws had begun terrorising the poorer settlements, many had sought safety underneath the WPO's watchful eye and all had been disappointed. And thus, the cycle continued, the endless repetition once again apparent. Slowly, the houses built to shelter the returning people becan to decay for lack of funding as Midgar distanced itself once again from the lower dwellings. Energy became expensive as work became scarce in Edge, and soon bare necessities were hard to come by as most trade between Midgar and Edge had ceased. No one from the not quite as glorious metropolis was willing to risk health and life to trade with the ever more desperate people outside the well-ventilated and elevated safety zone. The factories shut their doors and the entrepreneurs retreated to clean air and conservative thoughts. And there, without much effort, the slums were reborn as though they had never left. Ensconced by Midgar and yet separated by concrete walls and armed men who were allegedly there to keep the peace. To serve and protect - not the common people but the wealthy and powerful from the wretched and starving.

The old Strife gazed up at a flickering street lamp, glaring angrily above his head. Life was no longer a privilege for most but a burden to endure. Faith abandoned, hope extinguished, all struggled for survival. Leaving wasn't an option either as most cities had adopted the same energy and many had been laid waste to by civil unrest. And to travel, Gil was required as was protection from the myriad of monsters waiting beyond the relative safety of civilisation. It truly was a deadlock. One it would take a miracle to break.

A flash of silver caught the old man's eye and pulled him from his bitter thoughts. Anything bright was rare in Edge as even the blondest of heads were usually covered in a thick layer of dust and dulled from lack of sun. Gazing up to catch another look at that vibrant hue, all colour drained from his wrinkled face and dull blue eyes as they, for a fraction of a second, caught a glimpse of a shade long since wiped from the city. From a stark pale face gleamed bright green eyes, terrifying in their intensity and otherworldly glow. Old Strife felt his heartbeat pick up and pound painfully against his ribcage as he struggled to breathe. Terror took hold of his old stiff limbs when finally he recognised the nightmare given human form, looming in the haze. When the glow grew nearer he stammered in disbelief and terror, taking in the long silver tresses that crowned the familiar stranger's head, framing angelic and impassive features and fell starkly against black leather and silver buckles. Soundlessly and faster than lightning the gleaming glow was but inches from his face and he struggled to keep his consciousness from failing him. Eyes wide open and shaking uncontrollably he faced he nightmare as it impassively reached for his collar. His grandfather had been braver when faced with this deceptively serene face and the power dwelling in the phantoms every cell. For a phantom it had to be, his old mind finally losing touch with reality. The pain from his chest spread to every limb as it felt as though his blood was being ripped from his veins. Too terrified to comprehend the meaning behind the words the phantasm of terror uttered, he finally collapsed, the darkness of the world replaced by soothing, welcoming black. And yet even in death, that silky, dark voice echoed inside his mind.

"Good to see you Strife."

* * *

A/N.: **Chapter 1: Star-crossed and Honour-bound (or Well-known Strangers)** will be online tomorrow.


	2. Chapter I: Star-crossed and Honour-bound

**By Virtue Fall**

 **Chapter 1: Star-crossed and Honour-bound (or Well-known Strangers)**

* * *

Time was of the essence to the living but to those long gone from the world time was free of such constraints. Within the cradling Lifestream no sense of time could prevail when whispers, songs and soft spoken lullabies sung by the Planet to her children come home, time disappeared into nothingness within peace and safe embraces. Gentle waves of carefree love washed from mother to child, lover to lover, Planet to progeny. And within, all that had been torn from each other was reunited, all pain was forgotten, all wounds healed and all sadness quelled by loving melodies resonating within sin free souls. The Promised Land, the Cetra had called it, and _he_ fallen to madness with the thought of the wonders it held.

 _He_ however, was not one with the energy around him, the loving caress of soothing song. He who had been here before, travelling along the veil between the worlds, hatred and iron will all he had for company each time. From the first time his body had been claimed by the Lifestream to the last, each time he had delved deeper into the essence of the planet he had worked tirelessly to destroy, he found himself staring through grey curtains of his own making, unable to join with the peaceful grace that welcomed the true children of the world to which he was nightmare and darkness given form. His sin, the tainted cells clinging to his blood, kept him from truly reaching what was just beyond his grasp always out of reach.

The monster still resided within him, whispering deceitful promises to further hateful destruction by his hand, but he paid it no heed. While time to him was of no consequence, he had spent what felt like aeons watching what he had denied himself by giving in to it's bloody beckoning. Jenova had been his mother and his mistress, his salvation and his downfall all at once and he would have it no more. But just like a daughter can not be rid of her father's eyes just because she wills it so, he, the calamity's son could not be truly rid of the power in his veins. Still, he ignored it's calling, it's hiss and it's screams. Once he would have gladly bowed, knelt like a wayward wretch to the whims and wishes of the alien wickedness, but no more.

It was true that by exploiting the cells he had been gifted to the fullest, he had reached a state of being that surpassed that of any human walking the planet. Power to which he still clung, that resonated within every fibre of his being even now as he lingered somewhere between life and the heaven he couldn't reach. But no more would he try to extinguish what he now could see but never touch, or corrode the peaceful oblivion he had been staring at for what felt like an eternity. He was a soldier, born for war and blackened blood on silver blade but a puppet he would be no more. And all because of _her._

He could see her so clearly through the sheen that kept her from noticing him. Her voice cradled those who arrived frightened and newly freed, guided them to peace within the world's consciousness. She made lilies of pure magic grow and a blue sky whisper soft dreams to the children playing in the never ending fields that their minds conjured into being within the boundless stream of life. She was of the Planet's essence and the Planet's voice spoke to her, he knew, it sang to her very soul much clearer than it whispered to it's other children. She was the loved daughter, the last of her Ancient kind and he her murderer.

At times he wondered if she knew that he was lingering only inches and yet lifetimes away and if the smile on her face would fade if she did. She waited here to soothe those who came scared and broken all while denying herself the reunion with those of her loved ones who had long been absorbed wholly into the soft whisper of peace. The Planet had shielded her from seeing their passing, guiding their souls past her soft eyes to peace so that she would not grieve their deaths. And though he could never be one with the Planet, Sephiroth could hear it from his place beyond the sheltered haven.

From the very day his blade, his will given form, had pierced her ivory skin and torn her life from her, she had been haunting him like no other of his victims ever had. And it was not her undeniable beauty that he could not expel from his mind or that left his spirit restless as it remained isolated in grey oblivion. He had killed before and revelled in it and never had a life taken by his hand been so hard to forget. He had long since come to the conclusion that it was her sacrifice that had been the undoing of his madness, even if the veil of insanity had only lifted years later, she had shaken his foundation. If the Planet had been rightfully his to take and rule for himself, why would the Planet's own lifeblood pray for holy power to prevent his will from manifesting? _Mother_ had not liked his inquisition at first, she had screamed and thrashed in his veins, clawed at his mind to make the insolent son stop his musings and prevent him from realising his sin. But it had been for naught, for in his mind, the haze had begun to lift. Madness became vengefulness and finally solemn agony.

He continued to watch as he felt the vibrations of the world from whence they came, where the living barely lived in the epicentre of his life's journey. Somewhere out there, he could feel the calling of cells too powerful to yield to old age as they reached for him, screamed at them to take them into his being and become whole. The last of his clones, it seemed, was finally too fragile to carry his legacy and while he felt a sting of reluctance to claim it, the sorrow he felt for the other accursed being was greater. Any and all who had to carry his curse were to be pitied, for none could live with the stain as he did, buried beneath all powerful will to ignore it's hateful screams.

Other whispers lingered in the fabric of the Planet's outer layers. Whispers of decay and sighs of agony that the mother kept carefully from the children in her essence, hoping to shield those who were born of her and had returned after suffering on her surface. Not even to the flower maiden did Gaia speak of her troubles but he, her most hated bastard son, could feel the pain radiating from the Planet's very core as easily as he could reach out to touch the invisible wall of purity that kept him separated from peace and damned to linger in restlessness. Through all of the devastation he had dealt and the worlds he had laid waste to, pain had become second nature to him and what he felt reverberating off the Planet's soul was nothing short of seething agony. He could feel the poison reaching into the world, seeping in through wounds in it's earthly skin. He could see the corruption and it knit his brow in thoughtful lines. He gazed through the veil to the girl in whom the Planet vested both promise and power. The sorrow that he could hear in the Planet's voice was not for him, but for her, the loved daughter whose gentle nature and immaculate innocence was scorching to his tained eyes. He understood not why the Planet mourned it's daughter when she was there, right within it's grasp where as he could only watch her glory forever too far for him to reach.

It all became clear however, to him, only moments later, it felt – or was it aeons? - when the voice of the gentle mother for the first time acknowledged his presence and rung true in his unholy ears. It was less the whisper he had been listening too for so long but a commanding tone in his mind, explaining nothing but showing truth of decay, of suffering and pain. Images assailed his still inhuman mind, projections of purpose bequeathed to him along with the promise of damnation and absolution all at once. It demanded no answer nor oath but as his blood began to sing within it's confines, the voice called upon it's holy essence to silence the screaming filth as he, her bastard listened to both mothers. The Planet would not allow _it_ to touch _her._ And then, all went dark as promise rung within his veins.

When at last he opened his eyes, he could not tell where and when he was or from whence he truly hailed. Above him looming clouds full of unclean rain blocked out the warming sun and tainted air filled his lungs, the smell of it enough to make lesser men cringe. The ground below him was dry and cracked and only few withered strands of yellowing grass to call vegetation. The once general narrowed his gleaming eyes and moved to sit, his limbs sore and stiff from disuse. Around him, the world he knew but that had never mourned him became ever clearer to his adjusting, feline eyes and he rose from the dusty ground in which he could feel the corruption just as well as the soil that clung to his gloves. Rusty red claimed his attention and his eyes soon landed on a blade he would have known anywhere, despite it's weathered state. It was a relic from a different time just like him, a lingering memory of someone who had once been. He reached out to lay a hand on the hilt of the enormous blade, a loving caress of which his enemies would never have thought the faultless soldier capable.

The Planet's urging command was still alive in his ears, however, and as such he lingered no longer at the location of his reincarnation. The monster was stilled and silent within him and his breaths felt free like they had once oh so long ago. Instead of lingering on the thought though, he lifted his piercing gaze to the horizon where it clashed with the stark outlines of a city that always seemed to call him back. From somewhere within it's alien outline, for it had greatly changed from the metropolis to which he had laid waste, his blood called to him, the remnants of what was left of his puppet – Cloud – or his offspring. Sephiroth had no knowledge of how much time had passed since his last skirmish with the blond avenger in the ruins of the city that now seemed to tower from the barren wasteland as though risen anew.

He allowed his limbs a second more to adjust to new life before he set out, silver strands trailing through the air behind him. His path was clear, his purpose renewed though still alien to his war-forged self. First to gather what remained of him in the veins of another and then, to serve the planet's will. It was an alien task but one that he could not deny. If not for the planet's sake, then for _hers._

No hour later, light faded from the eyes of an old man who might in his youth have reminded the silver general of his nemesis, but no longer carried any resemblance to the chocobo haired infantryman who had foiled his nefarious plans time and time again. Though he no longer resented the puppet for trying to stop his schemes to consume the planet, he still did not feel sympathy for the younger man, whose entire existence was the bane of his own. Now, however, that the last of his wayward cells had been returned to his essence, Sephiroth allowed himself to roam the city that now towered every bit as high above the ground as he remembered it, though it's architecture was different, in search of knowledge of his whereabouts. He still had a while to wait to wait, he knew, before he could assume his role in the plan of the choking Planet and he would spend it preparation. What that role was, that we was to play however, he did not know and he despised not being aware of his purpose. He was a duty driven creature, purpose ingrained in his every fibre but for now he was in limbo, awaiting orders that he could not refuse. Not for his own existence but for reasons he did not yet grasp.

Unseen by the eyes of decrepit people lingering in what looked to be the slums reincarnated, he left the lifeless corpse of the old man resting gentle against the barrel on which he had been sitting, pipe still between his teeth, gone from this miserable place to join his ancestors in the afterlife. Sephiroth doubted not that had he not appeared to free the old man from his constraints, he would have passed soon by nature's own accord. Too much corruption lingered in his mangled body.

By the time he had scoured the district in which he found himself, Sephiroth's mind was filled with newly gained information. Knowledge of the the world in which he found himself, the day and age marked on the calendar and the current circumstances of the world flooded his mind, that eagerly sorted useless from useful and catalogued all for later use. His mind was sharper than ever, so it felt, and he quickly gained his bearings the more he learned. Midgar had changed and yet remained the same, utterly devastated by human greed. Still it had surprised him to find that he was the only mako tainted creature around and even the electric lights that gleamed in the twilight were powered by some unknown force of which he had to learn more. And thus, he disappeared from Edge, the decrepit legacy of the former slums, upwards into the city proper, where he had once been hailed both hero, monster and nightmare.

He knew where he would find _her._ It was as ingrained in his being as the will to destroy had once been. Once more they would both return to that place, murderer and victim, to the scene of his crime and her sacrifice. They had both been gone from the world for just over a century, a time span that meant next to nothing within the Lifestream where she lingered of her own accord instead of joining the other souls in becoming one with the Planet. Instead she held on to her self and he had watched her doing so from beyond the window through which she could not see him but he could see her every movement. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, he had been unable to tear his smoldering jade gaze from her, not quite knowing why she haunted him still. And now, within mere moments, she would be able to see him too. The Forgotten Capital of the people to which he never belonged but to which she was the last heiress appeared before him and he entered the sanctuary for the first time with rightful purpose.

* * *

The whispers changed and she stilled. Aeris had been all but lost in the peace around her but suddenly felt alert as something went missing. She had felt it linger somewhere beyond her reach, outside the songs and serenades of the planet. It had been there for almost as long as she had, she believed, though she could never be certain. The Planet never answered her questions when she prayed to know what lingered there in the shadows, so filled with all that could never exist within the Lifestream itself. She could ask and ask, but her mother never answered. And thus she had turned back to the souls that kept coming to her, joining with the Planet one by one and bestowing upon her the warmest of smiles which she always returned in kind.

But now the usually sweet and gentle song in that vibrated through her being changed, became less sweet and more urgent by the second. It whispered incoherently at her, sorrow predominant in it's insistent tone. She was saddened that the Planet should be grieving and she urged the voice to sing to her of the reason for the pain it felt. She received no real answer though the voice continued to bathe her in apologetic and mournful whispers. It urged her further and further from the peace she had felt moments ago and she wondered if it was at all related to that sorrowful presence that had suddenly disappeared after lingering for so long?

As the chorus of earthly whispers became increasingly sad and urgent she reached out to comfort the Planet and was flooded with a poisonous sting of corruption. She called out her lack of understanding, begged her dearest friend to explain the horror but all she received was a regretful caress of good intentions before her world went black and peace died.

The soft warmth that had enveloped her being gave way to freezing cold. Frosty tendrils of liquid grasped at her legs and arms causing numbness to surface in her aching limbs. She wanted to scream but had no breath to do so and when she opened her mouth to gasp for breath, water poured and she choked. Her verdant eyes flew open and were met by icy depths of clear water of which the surface was so far away. Beyond she could make out an unearthly pale glow that soon lost all shape as her lungs filled with the icy liquid. She lacked all strength to fight and yet she struggled, refusing to surrender to the dark depths. Her mind in panicked shock refused to think coherent thoughts as she prayed to be spared a drowning death. She had died once, though even her murderer had not been so cruel as to slowly steal life from her body. As strength left her body her thrashing all but stopped and just before her eyes threatened to slide closed, a hand closed around her wrist and with strength that she could never muster, pulled her upward towards the surface. She could all but make out a whirl of bubbles and currents and something more as she was pulled and carried swiftly upwards until her head finally broke the calm surface of the midnight water.

Choking and spluttering she thrashed to expel the water from her lungs as it burned and kept air from filling her and she nearly missed the entity who had saved her second life place her gently on a warm, smooth surface that cushioned her wet form. She struggled on and her ears only barely caught a deep, calm whisper before she was forced from her faint, lying position into an upright one, caught between smooth warmth and unyielding constraints.

"Forgive me." The voice was soothing and commanding all at once and oh so familiar and yet she could not think or reply for water no sooner spilled from her lips as she was seated and air replaced the wicked liquid. She greedily gulped a lung full of the sustaining air followed by another, and another still. All the while warmth ensconced her while wet fabric clung to her dripping form. Her hair clung to her scalp and she shivered as she took ragged, deep breaths with eyes firmly shut, which only caused the warmth to draw closer and something heavy and smooth to be draped over her to shield her from the cold. Moments passed before she could even fathom speaking or even looking at her saviour – for the form that held her was decidedly human.

But finally, when the voice spoke again, Aeris opened her eyes only to see pale, moonlit skin stretching across hard muscle and defined collarbone and silver tendrils of silken hair.

"Are you unhurt?"

The question caught her off guard and her eyes instinctively searched for a face to whom she could attribute the oh so familiar voice that was all deep tones and resonated with her memory of something she could not quite recall in her current distress. And her leafy gaze found for what it searched when they skimmed past narrow jaw, thin lips and straight nose to high cheekbones and unblemished skin. Angelic features met her inquisitive look but it was only when she reached the eyes of the one whose embrace gave her warmth, that she recognised the face of power incarnate. Green clashed with gleaming jade and slitted pupils that spoke of inhuman descent and she froze at once, unable to comprehend the situation. The nightmare enveloped her in a warm embrace and for a second she marvelled at how warm the icy touch of death felt upon her wet skin. Then, her mind finally recovered and she froze, immobile in his unyielding arms, eyes locked with his, terror evident on her features.

"Sephiroth." She whispered, no more than a sigh from her lips uttered with all the terror, incomprehension and sorrow one could possibly attribute to a single spoken word. His face remained impassive as he spoke, his lips hardly moving, though never had he so wished to forsake his name if it would only wash away the look of sheer terror on her face that he would have once delighted in.

"Yes."

And then Aeris collapsed, finally giving in to shock, in the arms of her murderer.

* * *

A/N.: **Chapter 2: A Rose By Any Other Name (or The Willing Suspension of Disbelief)** will be online tomorrow. I'd like to thank all readers for their support.


	3. Chapter II: A Rose By Any Other Name

**By Virtue Fall**

 **Chapter II: A Rose By Any Other Name (or The Suspension of Disbelief)**

* * *

She had never liked the dark. A lifetime spent in never-ending twilight had made total blackness where no light survived something to be feared. Thus, when she realised the dark veil clouding her mind her first instinct was to open her eyes, to dispel the shadows by taking in the light. But she found that her eyelids were made of lead and refused to obey her insistent command and instead remained firmly shut. The quiet whisper of the Planet calmed the surging panic in her soul ever so slightly, promising sweet relief from haunting nightmare if only she relented in her struggle. She felt weightless almost as if flying. She had always wanted to fly, though the sky scared her, too wide and open for someone who had grown up never seeing the blue expanse above the plate that blocked her view. But here, floating in unconsciousness, she felt no fear of the heavens above, but of the darkness that seemed to coat everything and anything in shadow.

 _Be brave, Aeris. It'll go away soon, just wake up._ The urging pleas of her own thoughts seemed impossible to obey as her eyelids still weighed tons. It was a strange state to be in, she found, floating but yet not flying, conscious and yet not awake. Her panic still lingered, instinct keeping it firmly in place, but she allowed the soothing song in her ears to dim it as it cloaked her thoughts in a mist that promised sweet dreams. No cold water that clawed at her skin plagued her memory nor gleaming eyes haunted her heart as she drifted from half-awake to soundly asleep, rocked by weightlessness and gentle lullaby.

* * *

She weighed nothing. It was a fact as simple as it was fascinating to the soldier, whose life had been spent carrying pauldrons that he was certain weighed more than the fragile girl cradled in his arms. The weight of his conscience too, was many times heavier than she could ever be. She was still, only her even breathing hinted at the life newly awakened within her. Every so often, he would steal a glimpse of her serene features, rosy lips and silken skin, just to reassure himself that his very touch had not reduced her to lifeless ruin. The wind was all the company he had as his lone wing carried him and his ward southward bound, across the northern sea and towards the city from which neither could ever truly escape, it seemed. It was uncanny, how his life seemed to revolve around Midgar, never mind how much he loathed it's very existence. How such a sacred and innocent being such as the one he was currently carrying could grow within it's confines was beyond all reason and he found himself thanking the Planet that rejected his very existence for the strength with which it imbued the purest among it's children.

Sephiroth had never considered himself sentimental and he would have a struck down any who had dared call him thus when he was young and brazen. But now, several lifetimes and endless sin later, he found himself no longer caring. Beauty demanded to be acknowledged just like strength demanded to be tested. And here he was, carrying a sleeping woman who embodied both. To think that he had once been called beautiful when there were people like her who were born only of the Planet's own will and not of scientific zeal, was tantamount to sacrilege. And what was his power that only brought grief and spilled blood compared to hers that healed worlds and hearts with a simple look and gentle caress?

She was dangerous in her own right, though she probably did not realise it. To him she was sin and salvation all at once, and still now out of reach though she slept soundly in his arms.

* * *

When Aeris emerged from the darkness, finally capable of lifting the veil through a sheer flutter of lashes, panic was all but gone from her cells. The feeling of weightlessness had disappeared a while ago, as though she had been gently placed upon earthen ground. She tried to move and found her limbs responding to her urge. The light blinded her momentarily as she gazed upward, though it was not as bright as she remembered the sun to be. A hazy, white expanse came into view through a large hole in what looked like a vaulted ceiling. It looked eerie and looming, as though the sun could not quite pierce the thick nebula above. She blinked once, twice and once more before her eyes moved to ascertain her location. It felt familiar and strange all at once and she reached out with her heart to her dear friend that whispered sadly in her ears. Stained glass devoid of vibrancy came into view and she moved to sit, noticing pillars and an altar that she knew too well. Her church. She had come home. But how? There was no lake nor glowing trees in the slums, it made no sense at all. She breathed in deeply and instantaneously wished she never had as a thick taste of decay surged in through her mouth. The taste and the smell permeated the space and she wanted to vomit, for the taste to disappear. The voice of her Planet moaned in her ears, whispered of it's ailment and Aeris was overwhelmed by a feeling of despair and urgency, so much more potent than what she had felt when she dwelled within the Lifestream and she felt tears well up in her verdant eyes. The corruption was almost palpable and it tainted everything. With every breath she took, she felt defiled.

The floorboards underneath her felt unstable and gave slightly as she finally managed to prop herself up on shaky hands. Underneath her trembling fingers, something dry and papery crumbled and her face whipped around to learn what it was that felt so wrong in her hands.

Brown wilted petals covered the floor and she raised one formerly perfect flower to her face. The voice in her ears grew sadder and more pained by the second and Aeris found herself shedding silent tears as she stared at the wilted petals in desperate disbelief. Her shoulders trembled and her heart ached, reaching out as if to will the dead flowers around her back to life, to full bloom. The sickening smell in the air had killed them, she knew, taken what little beauty had been left in the slums and turned it to dust.

The flapping of wings pulled her tearful gaze upward towards the sound as a shadow with a lone, black feathered wing descended through the hole in the ceiling that a different soldier in a different time had created by falling from the sky that frightened her so and that she now so yearned for to be blue once more. She recognised the shadow as her murderer turned saviour and when he gracefully dropped to his feet as he banished the feathered appendage amidst the wilted, dying flowers, Aeris screamed.

* * *

The church had been his first instinct when debating where to bring the sleeping Cetra. He remembered hearing from a dark haired and restless soldier of the flower girl in the slums whom he had met in a church she never called her own but that nonetheless was hers for all intents and purposes. He had never entered the sacred building before and now was even less keen to do so than he might have been back when he was proud and foolish. Still, he had carried her in through the hole in the roof, feeling less like the tainted anomaly that he was by circumventing the front door.

It had been only for a few minutes that he had left her alone, slumbering soundly on the wooden floor. And yet it had been too long, he knew, as he cast one glance at her teary, verdant eyes and the dried, dead flower petals in her hands. He knew little of flowers but even he could tell that the wilted plants had once been bright white and yellow in colour and he cursed himself for not thinking of her reaction to finding the blossoms she had so carefully nurtured corrupted by the stain that now choked the planet like he had once aimed to do.

„They're gone."

Two words laced with so much grief and pain that it made his blood boil as the calamity screeched in his veins, trashing against the chains that the Planet had imposed on it's most hated enemy. Death and destruction were her domains and he had been the tool with which to deal them. But now he paid her little heed as he swallowed the impulse to desecrate this holy place further by finding those responsible for this atrocity and offering their lifeless corpses to the weeping maiden. She would hardly welcome such violence though and as his aim was to shield and not harm the single blooming flower in Midgar, he would calm his singing blood.

Aeris's eyes were wide with shock and grief as she clenched her fist and hugged the wilting petals to her chest. A few quick steps were all it took for him to be at her side, kneeling down in an effort to soothe one flower that mourned others. Tentatively and slowly, he pulled his black glove from his hand and reached out to wipe those ungodly tears from a face that only smiles should know. To think that he would once, in a nightmare, have revelled in her tear stricken face and enjoyed the muted sobs that flowed freely from her lips, shamed him more than she would ever know.

And with unworthy fingers he then dared profane and take from purest heart unjust woe.

* * *

She could all but cling to the wilted, broken ghost of a bloom in her hand as she tried to fight back the tears that fell from her eyes. She had nurtured these blossoms so carefully, tending to them when no others grew in the wretched city. And then she had abandoned them, left them to fend for themselves in a world that cared not for the lives of flowers. She had abandoned them to save the world so that they could bloom and then _he_ had killed her and in one fell swoop damned her flowers too.

When he approached her with quick, silent steps, she couldn't help but stare at him, who looked so serene and caused such grief with one strike of his gleaming blade or one stare from his unblinking eyes. Had he known that by taking her life he had killed these innocent blooms and would he have cared? He who was made for spilling blackened blood and doing cruel deeds, would he have spared her if she had begged for the flower's sake. Her logical mind was arguing that the flowers were but flowers and while beautiful not worth such a scene, but her heart continued to tear when faced with the evidence of just how little her death had mattered in the great scheme of things when now all of her friends were dead and the air a putrid poison that killed innocent flowers. Though the Planet may have tried to hide from her the passing of her loved ones, she had felt each and every one passing by as they became one with Gaia's essence. And now they were gone, her flowers dead and she here, alone with the man who in killing her had doomed her flowers too.

And yet she did not twitch as his hand, glovelessly moved towards her face to sweep away the tears that still lingered on her rosy cheek. Her eyes desperately searched for something to hold on to and when she found his gleaming orbs with their slitted pupils and unearthly glow, she found she could not find it in her to care if he was her murderer or saviour or the root of all evil.

„You killed them," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. „You killed me and when you did, you killed them too. Would you have spared me if you had known that you would kill them too?"

The questions were urgent and needed urgent answers. She needed to hear what she assumed all along spoken in that voice that was so haunting and commanding, so soft and dark all at once.

„No."

Her eyes widened as he answered her pleading question with a sad syllable, his eyes swimming with regret as honesty buried all hope of all having had the chance of being different if only she had begged for mercy. A sob tore from her chest, a gut wrenching sound and she flung herself forward, arms outstretched and formerly clutched petals flying, into the arms of her undoing.

* * *

He caught her, allowing her to bury herself in his arms and hide her face from the cruel world in the crook of his neck. His right arm curled around her, holding her gently and close to his chest while she cried out her grief for the world that was not what she had given her life to save from his wrath. He did not move else, remaining silent and still as to not cause any further sadness. For how long they both remained motionless, he did not know but it seemed a sheer eternity. Had the time spent between life and afterlife seemed long to the silver-haired soldier, it was nothing compared to the grievous minutes spent with the last living Cetra crying out her desperation into his chest, spilling crystal tears onto pale skin.

To know that he had caused such sadness in her when all he wanted was for her to smile at him was unbearable and yet he bore it unyieldingly. Her sobs died down after what felt like aeons but neither of them moved. The murderer remained kneeling still cradling his victim protectively while she remained immobile, her face resting against his collarbone, her auburn hair tangling with his pale strands.

„Why?"

She broke the silence with a gentle whisper that, had his hearing not been superior to that of others, he might not have heard. It was a loaded question still and he weighed his answer.

„Because my hands were made for devastation, little one. For that there can be no forgiveness."

He felt the gentle shake of her head against his chest before she spoke.

„No, not that."

„What then?"

„Why do I feel safe here when I should be terrified?"

„Aren't you terrified?"

„No."

He blinked in surprise for he needed normally not do so and froze further still, not daring to move lest he frighten she who was unafraid.

„Why?"

„Because you smell like rain."

Her grief seemed to shrink back from her voice with every word she spoke and she surprised him with every syllable.

„Why does that matter?" he asked, curious to hear more from the bright angel in his arms whose blood still lingered on his profane hands.

„Because rain is pure. It washes away pain and grief," she explained quietly, still unmoving save for her lips, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

„What does rain do to stains that even the Planet rejects?" He dared to ask, quietly whispering his replies to her equally muted tones.

„That depends."

„On what?"

„Whether the stain wants to be cleansed by the rain."

„Yes." Oh _Gaia,_ yes!

„Then it sweeps it away and replaces it with new life."

Gods, how good that sounded, how blissful a promise it was in his unholy ears. Aeris moved from his shoulder, pulling back ever so slightly, to look up at yearning, gleaming, tainted eyes.

„Are you going to kill me, Sephiroth?"

When his name was then whispered softly rather than screamed in terror, his heart skipped a beat and his tongue could not find the words to speak. Instead he shook his head as he delighted in the promise of absolution on her rosy cheek and allowed himself to dream of forgiveness ignoring the roar of screeching voices in his blood.

„No."

„Be the rain then," she said, now pulling fully, still smiling tentatively, as though she was expecting him to change his mind and hoping that he would not. Oh how he would not.

„If you will it so, little one."

„Aeris. Call me Aeris."

He smiled the smallest smile ever seen in Midgar before he too moved, rising to stand as she did too. Whether rain or nightmare, whatever title she would grant him, he would take it, for a rose by any other name would still bear thorns, that he would use to defend the gentlest of flowers, so he vowed silently with only the Planet as his witness as she turned around and walked towards the church door and then turned her head to beckon him.

And then, he followed.

* * *

A/N.: **Chapter III: Hero Of The Dawn, Healer Of Worlds (or Silver Linings)** will be online Wednesday, 1st July.

I would like to thank each reader, whether silent or vocal, for their support and I hope that this story continues to be worthy of your attention.


End file.
